Yukon Chatter Bug

“Are you a sleeper?” Michael Kersterton asked this question in his column of the December 31st Globe and Mail, Should You Be Out? He was referring to how people chime in the New Year.

You see, this New Year’s Eve, I sat at home curled up next to my hubby watching episodes of 30 Rock, a nightly ritual of ours. I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to do the countdown, so we went to bed and turned on the radio to hear the sketch comedy The Irrelevant Show where I just couldn’t keep up despite its hilarious description:

…You’ll hear the National Pronunciation Bee, which is much easier than the spelling bee, but just as dramatic. Plus a helpline for people who can’t stop imitating William Shatner and George Takei, and a relaxation cd that screams at you…

Needless to say, I went to sleep only to rouse for the last three numbers of the countdown, gave my hunny a quick NYE kiss, and was konked out before the end of Auld Lang Syne. A sign of hitting my 40th this past year?

That article I mentioned from The Globe?

Tonight, some Canadians will be sound asleep while others are out celebrating midnight and the start of a new year. When should you be ready to admit to middle age and join the sleepers? …

Blerg!

My pie crust turned out perfect! It was light, crispy, and flaky, and the whole tourtière was very tasty. I know I’m tooting my own horn here, but I’m so happy that I managed to do it myself.

Part of the fun in cooking is also the giving. I brought a pie down to a friend, and he was ecstatic.

Also notice the huge rolling pin I received as a gift from my in-laws. It’s a bit hard to judge the size in the picture, but it works like a charm. I swear, I’ll never go back to a regular-sized rolling pin again.

Traditions are especially important during the holiday season in my French-Canadian family, but not having relatives close by or children of my own, I needed to find a way to connect with my heritage this season. So, I decided to make tourtières.

People, including French-Canadians, have different ideas of what a tourtière is. Is it the kind that looks like a pie filled with ground meat? Or does it have potatoes, carrots, and meat covered with a thick crust?

The answer to those questions depends on where you’re from. If you’re of the  Saguenay-Lac-Saint-Jean region in Québec, the former is a pâté à viande and the latter a tourtière. Everywhere else in French Canada, as far as I know, a tourtière is a meatpie, with nothing but ground meat (usually beef, pork and/or veal), onions, salt and pepper, and maybe a couple of herbs. These are the meatpies I made yesterday. Here in the North, however, many substitute the beef for caribou or moose meat. I’m anxiously waiting for a friend of mine to drop off some moose meat.

I’ve only made tourtières a couple of times before, and each time I had the help of a seasoned cook. This time I was on my own. Of course I had to make the necessary phone calls to my mother and grandma to make sure I had things right.

Judging by fluffiness and flakiness of the small pastries* made with the leftover dough, I succeeded with my pie crusts; actually, I think it’s the best crust I’ve made yet. The meat mixture was also quite tasty, so I’m guessing that my tourtières will turn out to be good, but only at dinnertime tonight will I know for sure.

*When I’m done with pie crust pastry, I roll out the leftover dough, brush on some butter, and spread brown sugar, (you can add cinnamon and nuts if you like.) then roll it up, cut it up, and bake it. Nothing is wasted!

Looking out onto Lake Ontario from my father-in-law’s backyard at the top of the Scarborough Bluffs, I had no idea what surprises were hidden at the bottom of these cliffs. Coming from the north, I was awestruck by the lush greenery on either side of me and was curious about the area below where few people could be spotted walking along the gravel road.

Overlooking the Bluffs

Lush greenery surrounding us

After inquiring about ways of getting to the bottom of the Bluffs, we walked down a sloped trail at the base of which was a metal sculpture by Marlene Hilton Moore to honour artist Doris McCarthy. The sculpture resembles the ribs of a canoe or a fish. More information about the dates etched at the base of each rib and the interpretation of the piece can be found by clicking on the image. [Update 2010/05/02 - A sincere thanks to John McEwen for pointing out my egregious error.]

Passage by Marlene Hilton Moore

It’s almost unbelievable that an area surrounded by millions of people can be so deserted: we met a couple walking their dogs and a trio of kids on bikes scrounging for metal by the look of the copper pipes poking crookedly out of their backpacks.

The length of shore we strolled along seems to have been the recipient of scraps from demolished buildings. Perhaps this mixture of concrete, glass, and other debris were dumped there to help the breakwaters. There are also stories floating around that tell of the  ship Alexandria that sunk in 1915 near the Scarborough Bluffs and the possibility that some of the bits from the ship has washed up.

If I lived in the area, I would be the first to haul back scrap from the beach. There are pieces of eroded bricks, some that still have porcelain or ceramic tiles still attached to them which would make great conversation pieces. There are also rust-coloured egg-shaped rocks, obviously eroded red bricks (unfortunately I didn’t get any photos of them). I pictured a bed of this red stone/brick on a landscaped surface under green shrubs or bordering a flower bed.

Since bringing rocks back over 5500 km didn’t seem like a smart idea, I opted for a smaller kind of treasure: beach glass.

An ex-boyfriend turned me on to beach glass hunting where salt water meets the rocky shores of the Bras D’Or in Cape Breton. Since then, I’ve spent countless hours walking along rocky beaches from Haines, Alaska, to St. John’s, Newfoundland, looking for these little treasures polished by the waves’ action.

There are many, many pieces you have to throw back into the water to let Mother Nature continue her work, and it can take hours to find only a few bits worthy of pocketing. But here on this empty shoreline with nothing more than a few ducks nearby and flocks of geese overhead, it only took a few minutes before I spotted my first keeper. After searching for less than a couple of hours, I walked away with a handful of glittering glass. I felt like I had found the motherlode.

Sure you can buy the sandblasted kind by the bag, and they’re everywhere in custom jewellery shops, but in my eyes, these man-made replicas are comparable to plastic rings found at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box.

Where are these tiny colourful gems from? How long have they been in the water? There’s so much mystery around each piece of glass. Oh, one can speculate, but you never really know: broken bottles, glass from ships, garbage dumped? Regardless, they’re my little treasures now to do with as I wish.

Although I know that place names don’t necessarily match the place itself and are sometimes a ploy to trick people (think Greenland), I was looking forward to my visit to Paradise.  As you’ve seen with previous posts about Newfoundland, it truly is a wondrous place with breathtaking views. But what about Paradise itself?

Paradise has been in the news lately thanks to the most recent municipal elections where Kurtis Coombs beat Ralph Wiseman by three votes. After a couple of recounts, it ended in a tie that was broken by a draw from a hat – literally. This put Coombs at the losing end, but had he won, he would’ve been the youngest mayor in Canada’s history.

But more about the town itself, Paradise is the fastest growing town/city in Atlantic Canada, and construction crews have a hard time keeping up with laying roads and building houses. With this explosion of suburbia, the locals are calling it Paradise Lost.

Below is a built-up area next to Adam’s Pond. There are houses and roads all around this pond now which don’t  show up on Google maps yet.

We went down to Vancouver a few years ago to meet up with Dave’s brother who was visiting from South Korea. We decided to take a little side trip to Victoria to visit this fine city and meet up with some of my old work colleagues at the Canoe Brewpub. This place has their own idea of blending quirkiness, artsiness, practicality, and innovativeness…in the washroom. The handwashing facilities consist of a long trough that is shared by both the men’s and ladies’ washroom. A mirrored wall extends down far enough into the trough that you can’t see the other side, except perhaps soap-lathered hands from the other side (though in truth, I don’t remember if you could actually see hands on the other side). It was kind of weird and fun at the same time.

On our most recent trip to Ontario, I found other examples of things that are uncommon:

I had a bite in well-known pub called D’Arcy McGee’s. In the ladies’ washroom was a commercial flat iron, and I couldn’t resist taking a picture despite the embarassment of knowing that people might see the flash going off. The washroom door had an opaque window pane.

In another public washroom was a hand-dryer from the future. The air coming out of this thing was so powerful that your hands literally dried in seconds.

Okay, maybe by now you’re thinking that I’m the quirky one for taking these photos. Well, it runs in the family. Here’s a picture of my sister’s idea of tools for removing the cover on a computer’s power supply.

And if you’re trying to find parking in St. John’s, NFLD and don’t speak English Newfounese, no worries. A picture is worth a thousand words, as they say.

Of course with different climate come different warnings. This one’s for Baino. These signs were on the doors of most businesses.

From a courthouse in Ottawa (Ontario Court House). Who woulda thunk putting rocks in the side of a building? I wonder if this was a statement linked with the intended use of the building.

Ever get those e-mails where there’s a joke and then you have to scroll down…scroll down…keep scrolling? This last picture is boingboing worthy. We got off the highway to make a phone call and came across the following. I’ll leave it up to you to come up with a title for the billboard.

My second year of teaching is well under way, and what a relief it’s been that the learning curve isn’t as steep as last year. I still feel scattered and overwhelmed, but having a year under my belt makes for a much reduced stress level.

For one, I already knew most of my students before the first school bell rang. A huge advantage I have over a regular classroom teacher is that I get to teach my students year after year, so I see them grow in their knowledge and blossom in their language skills. The drawback is that I only get to see them a short period each day, so building rapport is tougher; I don’t get to know them as well as their homeroom teacher.

I’m also familiar with the school’s routines, staff, and layout, which makes navigating the system much smoother. I’m still getting hit by information overload but of a different kind, and I can actually assimilate more of what I’m receiving.

The curriculum is not all new, and I’m starting to get a better feel for what students at different grade levels should be able to do. I know I missed plenty last year and probably will again this year. Things will eventually fall into place…thank God.

Teaching is such a complicated job, and those not in the business really have no clue what it’s all about. They only see the visible part of teaching: students working in class; lessons being taught; workbooks being filled. They don’t see the hours (outside of 8-4) of preparation and marking. There is more that goes on behind the scenes than what is visible. Kind of like the old analogy of a duck looking calm on the surface but paddling like hell underwater.

I’m feeling good about this new venture, which is more than I could say this time last year. Things are getting better.

As much as flying reduces the time needed to get somewhere, driving has so many advantages. You get to appreciate the scenery, and you can stop and explore little nooks and crannies.

For example, this summer was the second time I drove through Saskatchewan. Anyone who’s not from the prairies always describes them as flat with nothing to see (except maybe your dog running away for three days…old joke). Except, of course, for those living there,  Canadians in general do not have an appreciation for the prairies. I was one of them. This last drive has opened my eyes to the beauty of this part of our country.

It was very early in the morning when we drove through, and a layer of mist hung over the fields of bright yellow canola. Some fields had cattle lazily grazing with tails flicking. With the sun’s morning rays being filtered by the mist, the view was heavenly. At regular intervals along the road, ponds and marshes were nestled inside tall stands of trees.

Why didn’t I stop to take a photo? I don’t know. Maybe I was wrapped up in the beauty of it all. It was so peaceful.

When visiting family in Ontario, I don’t usually get to uncles, aunts, and cousins because they’re spread out. Driving through, this year, afforded me the opportunity to stop in and say hello.

One such stop was in Astorville (near North Bay) at my grandmother’s old farmhouse. She’s passed away now, but my uncle purchased the property and has been living there for some time.

Gauthier Farm

Renovations on the old house have drastically changed the look of it, but some old parts on the inside are still recognizable: the large wooden beams in the original living room are now painted white; the upstairs, where my sister and I used to sleep during our traditional Easter visit, is left almost untouched; and the postage stamp-sized kitchenette-cum-bathroom is still there. Again, why didn’t I take pictures of the inside?

The Renovated House

Memories came flooding back when I took a tour around the property. Dave and I had to make our own path through tall grasses to get to the old tree house from my childhood. The path is long gone, and I worried about poison ivy (or was it poison oak) that grew in and around the area when I was a kid. Here’s Dave, who stands 6’6″, in the grasses. They were as tall as I am.

Dave in the tall grasses

I couldn’t miss the tree. There it stood like an old faithful friend, waiting for the return of little hands and feet searching for crevices to grab onto, waiting for the whispered secrets and squeaky laughs of children hiding up on the rugged platform, and ready and able to take in the pounding of nails into its hard frame to support the memories that would be built in and around it.

Old Faithful: A couple of wooden boards are still visible

My sister, my uncle (who, incidentally, was my sister’s age), and I worked on that tree house a little bit each year. My uncle did the bulk of the work since it was in his backyard, while we were there only a few days each year. But how we loved to climb those crooked wooden rungs and sit up high overlooking surrounding fields. It was our own little nook.

While looking up at my childhood friend, my mind wandered back to a tumble I once had, and my right hand instantly reached for a small ridge on my left hand between the thumb and index finger. There’s still a scar there thirty-three years later. The details are fading, but kids being kids, my sister and I had had a spat, and I was now barred from the tree house. Ignoring her warnings not to come up, I stubbornly kept climbing the rungs until she gave me a hard push. Down I went with the wrong end of a rusty nail finding its way into my hand. All is long-forgiven now, and when my sister and I get together, we laugh ’til we cry telling stories from the old farm house.

A rotting platform remains

These photographs from St.John’s focus on two of the most important landmarks in the area: Signal Hill and Cape Spear.

Cape Spear is the easternmost point in North America. My coming from the Yukon where Canada’s westernmost point is located made this visit all the more interesting. Below is the oldest surviving lighthouse in Newfoundland, located at Cape Spear. Construction began in 1834:

Old Lighthouse at Cape Spear

Below is the new operating lighthouse at Cape Spear:

New Lighthouse at Cape Spear

Notice the outhouse hanging over the edge, no longer in operation I might add. Yikes!

No need of a "honey-dipper" on that one

There are trails around the harbour and narrows that have breathtaking views. Here I am sitting on the stone wall just below Cabot Tower overlooking The Narrows. You can get a peek of Cape Spear in the background.

Sitting atop Signal Hill

Looking back toward the harbour from Signal Hill:

St.John's Harbour from Signal Hill

Cabot Tower atop Signal Hill, near where the first trans-Atlantic wireless message was received by Guglielmo Marconi in 1901. (I wonder if they called him Elmo).

Cabot Tower at Signal Hill

Some of the surplus stones from the building of the Cabot Tower along with those from the recently demolished St. George’s Hospital were used for the houses below. The builder and designer of the Cabot Tower, Samuel Garrett, built these homes for his daughters. They were connected with doorways in the inside walls and are now referred to as the Temperance Street Houses or the Samuel Garrett Houses:

A close-up view of the stonework on Cabot Tower:

Stonework on Cabot Tower